


Over the Wall

by FreshBrains



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Community: comment_fic, F/F, Married Couple, POV Margot, Pregnancy, Waiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:04:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6496522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margot will sit, back straight, stomach a knot of nerves. Waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> For the LJ comment_fic prompt: [Any, Any/Any, receiving good news.](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/709534.html?thread=93830046#t93830046)

Margot sits in the overstuffed chair in the parlor every afternoon from one to three-thirty. She'll bring a book--Oyeyemi or Karen Russell or some heavy classic--and it will remain closed and untouched in her lap. The grandfather clock will tick, the curtains will rustle along with the warm air coming from the radiator.   
  
And Margot will sit, back straight, stomach a knot of nerves. Waiting.  
  
Alana is always home at this time from the hospital, sitting in the kitchen going over her files, hair down and jacket abandoned. She keeps shorter hours ever since they started the treatments. They both know their doctor's calling hours begin at one and end at three-thirty.  
  
Alana never seems to get much paperwork done.  
  
Margot won't sit in the kitchen with her--it makes her too nervous. She wants Alana to come into the news on her own before she shares it, even with her wife and the mother of her child. They're both such intensely private people, especially...especially _after_. They've earned privacy, and Margot will give it when needed.   
  
They'll have fun telling their loved ones--Alana's family, their friends, the ones they trust with their lives. They want to have fun. They _deserve_ to have fun. But for now, it's just them.  
  
That doesn't mean Margot isn't a wreck while waiting.  
  
The phone rings on a Monday in February, half past two, with grey snow sleeting the streets outside. Margot closes her eyes, swallows, her throat clicking dryly. She waits. Alana lets the phone ring almost twice before answering.  
  
(Margot cannot hear her from the parlor. This is calculated).  
  
The radiator hisses; Margot barely notices. Her hands curl around the spine of her book. Today, it's _The Secret Garden_ , a childhood favorite of hers. She hasn't read it in years; it's more wishful than anything--she hopes the gothic whimsy of it will rub off on her, the secrecy and false ghosts, the running through a maze to find paradise at the end.  
  
Four minutes pass, then fifty-four seconds, and the parlor door opens, the heavy oak wading through the plush carpet.   
  
Alana doesn't waste time--they don't mince words, they don't settle on charged glances or loaded gazes. That isn't them. "I'm pregnant," Alana says, voice firm but quiet.  
  
The book falls from Margot's lap, thumping against the carpet, and Alana bends down to pick it up. She crumbles into Margot's embrace and ends up with her head in Margot's lap, crying into her skirt, Margot's sure fingers twining through her hair.  
  
"Everything is going to be perfect," Margot whispers, smiling through her tears, and holds Alana close.


End file.
